


Day 28: Clones

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [28]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Clone Sex, M/M, Multi, Selfcest, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Luard and Shiranui explore an alternative use for a certain ninja art.
Relationships: Luard/Stealth Dragon Shiranui
Series: Kinktober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Day 28: Clones

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I do NOT know how to tag this. It's even more PWP than normal???
> 
> Shoutout to that one episode of -If-. You know. Shiralua Clones Canon.

Luard has never really noticed before just how _gold_ his eyes are. They burn like the sun seen from the bottom of a deep pit, like the luminescent orbs set into Gyze’s — his — _Gyze’s_ , he’s still not great with drawing a distinction — metallic body before it was destroyed. Unbraided hair hangs loose and crinkled around his shoulders, framing his blank, unblinking face and its bizarrely distant eyes as if they were a particularly embarrassing work of art.

“This is honestly really fucking weird actually,” Luard says, because it is. He waves a hand in front of the eyes that are both his and _not_ , and they don’t blink, or trace his movements, or do anything at all.

“It’s just an illusion,” Shiranui reminds him, eternally gentle. “A copy.”

“I know,” says Luard stiffly, circling around the figure in question and inspecting it closely. It looks just like him, but it isn’t, because _he_ ’s him — but it looks so _alive_ , right down to the slow rise and fall of its naked chest as it breathes. The only things that mark it as unreal are its unearthly stillness and the faint, invisible mark of Shiranui’s power, clinging to it like a familiar scent.

“We use them as decoys, mostly,” the dragon explains, as if he’s reading Luard’s mind, “so a high degree of realism is essential.” A thoughtful pause, and then: “Did you want to stop?”

“No,” replies Luard, even more stiffly. He appreciates the question, but that doesn’t stop it being embarrassing to answer.

Shiranui’s lips curl around the response in a way that would be _threatening_ if he wasn’t so used to it. “Very well then.”

The copy steps forward, and Luard, instinctively, steps back. Its movements are jerky and lopsided, like an amateur puppet show, and Shiranui mutters a quiet _sorry, I haven’t actually done this in a while_ as it rights itself and presses forward again. It seems to gather itself quickly, moving suddenly with more fluidity and grace than Luard has probably ever had in his life as it backs him against the unyielding wood panel of the bedroom wall. Its fingers curl around his wrist, and Luard is almost startled to feel the warm touch of a real, physical body; that too, he reminds himself, is an illusion.

Before he has time to process anything more, the copy twines the fingers of its other hand into his hair, leans in, and kisses him hard.

It’s awkward, and sloppy, and the tongue in his mouth doesn’t quite seem like it knows what it wants to do, and _oh Messiah,_ Luard thinks, _is this really what I kiss like_ , but there’s no room to process the bulk of his embarrassment as the copy presses its bare chest to his, hand sliding to his shoulder and tugging at his robes even as it continues kissing him. It doesn’t feel like kissing another person, not really, not that Luard has a lot of experience; its smell and taste and heat are so _familiar_ , almost blandly so, and the subtle taste of Shiranui’s influence is barely identifiable beneath. His robes hit the floor before he even realizes it, and the copy breaks their kiss only to drag him towards Shiranui, who has, while Luard was — _distracted_ , settled down comfortably on the bed. The dragon’s cock is already stiff, his claws curled lazily around it, and he strokes it almost absently as he watches the two of them.

Luard hits the mattress with a sharp, startled yelp; the copy pushes him onto his back and straddles him before he has a chance to react. Their lips, already slick with each other’s saliva, meet again, the copy’s tongue sliding hot and eager against his. The warmth pours into his cheeks, throat, chest, spreading like a sunrise across his skin. He gasps wetly against the copy’s mouth, lifts his hands without thinking to grasp at its hips, and can’t even blame it for being a messy kisser, really; he’s no better, because despite the familiarity of its tongue and its teeth and the shape of its mouth, he hasn’t exactly had a lot of practice with… physiologically similar partners.

Shiranui murmurs appreciatively, and the copy lifts its head with a damp gasp, Luard’s drool trailing from its lower lip. Its face is already flushed, lamplike eyes veiled by arousal. A shiver ripples between them, and Luard isn’t sure how much of it is him and how much of it is — well, also him.

He doesn’t resist as the copy moves him again, sliding its weight off him so it can push him closer to Shiranui. Rolling onto his stomach, Luard crawls obediently between Shiranui’s spread legs and coiled tail, eyes drifting up the body of the massive, statuesque dragon above him. A profoundly satisfied smile is painted across his sharp-toothed features, and he whispers, voice weighted with equal parts power and adoration: “You’re beautiful, Luard.”

The sound of his voice is like warm static in Luard’s ears. It’s impossible to stay focused on his face; his erection is _so close_ suddenly, dominating so much of Luard’s vision, his space, and the dragon’s claws are tightened around it more eagerly than ever.

With a hand to the back of his head, the copy pushes him forward.

It’s impossible to fit even the head of Shiranui’s cock in his mouth; he knows that from experience. It’s too big for him to even wrap his hands around and have his fingertips meet on the other side, but it doesn’t stop him from trying, the dragon moving his claws out of the way so Luard can press himself bodily up against the throbbing shaft. It pulses against his chest with all the force of Shiranui’s life and arousal, and he pushes himself up on his knees so he can better get his hands around it, rubbing it between the sweat-dampened skin of his arms and pecs. Shiranui’s thick, musky scent wraps around him in turn as he moves, stroking the shaft in a familiar, rhythmic motion, and he almost forgets, until the bed dips with the movement of something behind him, that they’re not alone.

Luard almost chokes on his own breath as the copy’s fingers slip between his cheeks. A second hand on his hip eases him up, gives it better access as it presses the tips of its lube-slicked digits to his hole. He shudders against Shiranui’s shaft as it enters him; it’s not _painful_ , but it’s certainly uncomfortable, and his whole body clenches instinctively around it as if it were a threat. It doesn’t stop the copy from quickly working a second finger in too, easing it past the tight ring of his hole with a painless precision that could only come from knowing exactly how it feels.

He groans, shameful and shameless, throat humming against the burning flesh of Shiranui’s erection as his vision blurs under the weight of arousal and sensation. The dragon’s tail slithers like a serpent across his back, curling around him and binding him loosely against the shaft. It moves up and down with him, matching his movements, as if Shiranui were stroking himself off with a toy, and the copy moves with them, gently but firmly working Luard’s hole until it can fit a third finger comfortably inside. Luard’s own rapidly growing erection is sandwiched between his stomach and Shiranui’s enormous cock, but his hands are — busy, to say the least, so he makes do with the friction of rubbing it between them, pouring the heat pooling in his belly directly into it.

Shiranui sighs, long and low, and Luard focuses his vision long enough to look up at his partner.

All at once, the air grows heavy in his lungs, his heart shuddering as if struck by a burning hammer. Above him, Shiranui’s head is tilted away, a slim, blond figure held one-armed against his side as he pulls it into a deep, hungry kiss. On his other side, his mechanical arm cradles an identical figure, currently absorbed in worshipping with its tongue what Luard knows are the softest, most sensitive scales on Shiranui’s neck.

The copy — the _first_ copy — pulls its fingers from Luard’s hole with a dull sucking sound, and he doesn’t get time to even feel the emptiness before its cock replaces them.

It fucks him fast and rough, nails biting into his hips as it slams its own against them. Luard takes it stiffly at first, but soon his body goes slack, rocking limply between the two cocks, supported still by the loop of Shiranui’s tail. His cheek is pressed into the precome trickling from the dragon’s glistening cockhead, and it draws thick, dirty streaks across his face. Everything feels tight and bloated with arousal; his own precome is smeared across both his stomach and the broad trunk of a shaft in front of him, and his ass clenches and strains with the movements of the copy’s cock inside him — as it should, he half-consciously thinks towards absolutely no one, because being an exact copy of him, it’s naturally extremely well endowed.

Luard hugs the dragon’s cock like a pillow, or a lover, basking loose and helpless before it as if he were just another puppet. The beat of hips against his own keeps his body moving, keeps up the blissful friction on his erection, and the rod in his ass brushes against something that sends lightning racing down his nerves, and everything is folded over itself and magnified a hundred times by the fact that he can _see_ , from the outside, Shiranui toying with him — it’s _not_ him, but it might as well be, because at the moment he’s hardly more independent than they are.

One of the other copies — the one with Shiranui’s tongue drawing an obvious bulge in its throat — moans and gurgles, its eyes wide and its skin flushed red and dark with arousal. Its back — _Luard_ ’s back — arches as it writhes, and it’s almost as thought Luard can feel it himself, in his overheated, musk-addled brain; it’s _him_ up there, choking on his partner’s tongue, licking wet streaks up his scales, burying his cock in the tight, burning pit of a welcoming hole and working it with delicious friction until he—

Until— 

The original copy comes as Luard does, and it’s almost like the explosion inside him is what drives his own orgasm. Cock twitching violently, he empties himself in irregular spurts all over Shiranui’s shaft and the firm, tensed muscles of his stomach, painting white streaks over deep, throbbing purple as his chest and shoulders heave with the stress of release. It’s like a flood washing over his muscles, dragging away knots and pressure and flotsam and swamping the fire inside him that was both keeping him going and simultaneously driving him over the edge as if he were a cornered animal.

As the last splatter of come dribbles from his softening cock, he goes limp again, and the tail around him tightens as he starts to slide sideways. Luard groans, head lolling, mind shimmering and hazy like an ocean under the sunset.

One thought slices through the mist, sticks like an upright needle in his spine: Shiranui hasn’t finished yet.

Fingers twitching with the effort, Luard runs a hand down the length of the dragon’s thick, shining shaft. It’s the only movement he can manage, half-drowned under the weight of his exhaustion, but he tries, he _does_ , drags his hand back up again, down, up, down, and he nuzzles his cheek weakly against the cockhead, ignoring the precome clumping in his hair.

He almost loses what little breath he’s managed to regain when his hand bumps into another.

It’s the second copy, its lips bright with both saliva and blood racing excitedly under the skin. At the same time, the mattress sinks under Luard’s knee as a weight settles on his other side, and a moment later another set of hands joins them. The third copy brings its lips to Shiranui’s cockhead in a tender and reverent kiss, a mere inch from Luard’s own face — his real face, because they’re _both_ his face, and also not, _his brain is too bleary for this right now_ — and then together, Luard moving significantly slower and shakier than the other two, they set about massaging the shaft, pouring all their love and warmth and gratitude into their fingertips.

Somewhere along the line, the first copy pulls itself free from Luard’s ass, come leaking in an ugly trail after it, but the only thing that matters anymore, the only thing that ever really did, is Shiranui.

 _He must be close_ , Luard thinks dreamily, as the dragon’s tail starts pumping his body again, working his pecs like an extra pair of hands against the massive cock. Shiranui’s face, through the tired dark spots peppering Luard’s vision, is caught as if he were a moment away from moaning; his jaw hangs slack, half-open, his eyes dark and swimming with desire.

 _Come_ , Luard wants to urge, the way Shiranui so often does for him — the way that _always works_ — but his jaw and tongue are as loose and unpuppeted as the rest of him, and it’s all he can do to trail behind the others as they smear his come up and down their partner’s quivering shaft.

It’s enough, though, it seems, because it’s not long before a sharp gasp hisses between the razors of Shiranui’s teeth, and his tail squeezes tight enough to make Luard gag as the air is crushed out of his chest. His whole body bounces with the spasm of Shiranui’s ejaculation, and it’s the only thing that saves him from getting the full force of the dragon’s come directly in his face. It goes over his head instead, a thick, heavy splatter hitting his lower back like a sudden shower of rain, and the tail loosens enough for him to slump down against Shiranui’s balls as they clench again, sending another spurt into the air, and then another.

The smell is overpowering, sweeter and more cloying than Luard’s own, even when he’s shifted. Every time, part of him wants to ask if all dragons smell like that, but he’s still reeling from the dizziness of his own orgasm by the time Shiranui’s softened cock comes to rest on his shoulder, the tip still dribbling more come than Luard’s ever produced in his life. He doesn't even have the energy to be offended as it drips gratuitously down his back.

Even now, the image of Shiranui’s tongue sliding against lips that look like his is fresh and raw in his mind, and he clings to it like a beloved toy, like a priceless work of art that he wants to etch into the soft matter of his brain and never ever forget. Through the eyes of an observer rather than a participant, it’s an image that sits at a bizarre juncture between debauchery and romance, somehow an apt encapsulation of everything that they’ve become, and is also just really, really fucking hot.

A claw finds his hair and trails lovingly through the clinging mess of fluids, and Luard can only lie there, shuddering and panting, obscenely, unfairly sticky, and deeply, disgustingly satisfied.

The soft tongues of the copies against his shivering skin absolutely do _not_ help him feel less dirty, thanks, but in his exhaustion, he can’t exactly say that he minds.

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha oh god it's december. My goal now is to just finish these by the end of the year. There's only three left but they're all the hardest ones.
> 
> Idk I don't think this one's very good and I know I say that every time but. (vague hand gestures)
> 
> Twitter: @cosmowreath


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